"Come see," he seems to say—"where joy has fled—
The leaves that burned but yesterday so red
Have turned to ashes—and the flowers are dead.
"The summer's green and gold hath taken flight,
October days have gone. Now bleached and white
Winter doth come with many a lonely night.
"And though the people will not heed or stay,
But pass with careless laughter on their way,
Even I, with rain of tears, will wait and pray."
THE LILY-POND
On this little pool where the sunbeams lie,
This tawny gold ring where the shadows die,
God doth enamel the blue of His sky.
Through the scented dark when the night wind sighs,
He mirrors His stars where the ripples rise,
Till they glitter like prisoned fireflies.
'Tis here that the beryl-green leaves uncurl,
And here the lilies uplift and unfurl
Their golden-lined goblets of carven pearl.
When the grey of the eastern sky turns pink,
Through the silver sedge at the pond's low brink
The little lone field-mouse creeps down to drink.
And creatures to whom only God is kind,
The loveless small things, the slow, and the blind,
Soft steal through the rushes, and comfort find.
Oh, restless the river, restless the sea!
Where the great ships go, and the dead men be;
The lily-pond giveth but peace to me.